#so i'm glad i took this power with me in spite of her shittiness and i will claim it proudly as part of my human heritage

[entangledwitch]

there's something about hand sewing that just really makes a thing special to me.

this isn't the fanciest or most polished project i've ever completed, nor is it the biggest or the most time-consuming, but making my own little sleep mask out of old clothes was incredibly satisfying. the unevenness to the stitches and the irregularities where i turned it inside out to finish the seams give it a life of its own. i've done this thing in a way that my great-grandmother would have done it, wasting nothing, no money spent, and i offered the energy of the work to the Norns. doing this connects me to countless people who came before me going back millennia as well as the gods i work with. the skill was passed down to me directly by someone in my birth family, echoing in my bones the hard work of every ancestor who ever took up needle and thread to keep their families warm. it is a sacred act, regardless of all the pain i remember in the learning of it.

i can't often do this kind of thing without getting shooting stabby pains through my hands these days, but today i managed to sacrifice a few hours of my time and a bit of my energy to make something the old-fashioned way while i still can. i'm thankful for the opportunity. it wouldn't have been any less great or awe-inspiring if i'd used a machine, i'm glad there are more accessible ways to do it, but i'm also glad to have had this experience once more.

[off-topic-ig]

Long post incoming!

TL;DR I had a shitty transphobic therapist and I'm glad I didn't let her turn me into her.

I felt this way with one of my past therapists. I mentioned that I dated a non-binary person and she just went on a big transphobic tirade about "gender confusion" bullshit, pushing cis-het normativity on me. She also tried to push religion on me after I told her I wasn't religious.

Towards the end she told me "I can tell you don't know who you are, and I can tell you don't like yourself." And that statement was and still is not completely inaccurate. I've struggled my entire life with depression and self-loathing.

But here's the thing. I may not know who I am, but I know who I'm not. I'm not her, and I'm glad I'm not like her. I may have hated myself, but in spite of that I had enough self-respect to see past her bullshit and recognize what she was doing, and it pissed me off.

She was trying to deconstruct me and reconstruct me as she saw fit. Trying to take away my sense of self and turn me into a clone of her by forcong her worldview on me. Trying to make me a bigot just like her.

Well she made one mistake. I may hate myself, but I hate transphobia more. I have a sibling who at the time, recently came out to me as gender-fluid. And let me tell you, my sister is my best friend and I would take take a bullet for her.

I didn't say anything. I'm a very non-confrontational person, always have been. But not a day goes by where I don't wish that I had blown up on that shitty therapist. I fantasize in my head about standing up to her, standing up for my beliefs, standing up for my queer friends and family, standing up for myself. I fantasize about calling her out for being a bigot, for pushing a restrictive, oppressive worldview on me and who knows how many other patients.

I came to her because I was broken. I was depressed and needed guidance. I needed help. I was in a place of deep vulnerability. She recognized that, and chose to take advantage of me. Not sexually or anything like that, but psychologically, she wasn't interested in helping me, she was interested in converting me to her cause. One that hurts people. People I love and care about. She forced her beliefs on a vulnerable person. She abused the inherent power imbalance of a professional and a patient for her own ends.

I was broken. I was broken and she took advantage of me.

But a broken blade is still sharp.

Sharp enough to cut through her bullshit.

I may not know who I am, but I know who I'm not. I'm not like her. And I'm proud of that. And the fact that I struggle so much with depression and so rarely feel pride in anything should show you how strongly I felt about that.

Funny thing is, I think she actually did help me, just not in the way she thought she would. Sometimes we need a villain to fight against. Sometimes evil inspires good. I still don't fully know who I am, but I know what I believe in. And I partially have her bigotry to thank for reinforcing my beliefs.

Trans rights are human rights, non-binary people are valid, it's okay to be exploring your gender and sexuality, love is love, queerness is natural.

Mental health matters and if you're feeling depressed you should see a therapist, I wanna be clear that I'm not anti-therapy. But not every therapist is a good therapist that has your best interests in mind. Recognize when a therapist isn't for you. You owe it to yourself.

Sorry for the long-post, but I saw this and I wanted to tell my story. I think about that session a lot.

But anyway yeah.

Trans rights. Fuck the establishment. Thanks for reading.

^-^

[dreaming-about-the-dead]

This Saturday was the last presentation of Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny, the play my classroom chose to end our last semester of teather college. And damn I have so many things to say about this incredibly hard journey.

When we first decided which play we were going to make, I was beyond elated to be part of Mahagonny. My enthusiasm only grew when I discovered I would be playing the part of Widow Begbick, the same role Patti LuPone played when she herself was part of this opera written by Bertolt Brecht. At the same time I was ecstatic, I was also nervous; this role was like a huge weight of responsibility on my shoulders. How could I ever play a role Patti LuPone played? How could I be as good as her? Never. I figured I had to create Leokadja Begbick my way.

And that's what I did; and through months of rehearsal and creative work a snake was born. My Begbick was alive, and she slithered through my veins, cold as ice and venomous as the deadliest rattlesnake. Her poison fueled my being and she gave me the power I needed to get through 5 gigs in high heels and an embroidered shirt so heavy I kept sweating profusely whenever I put that on.

As I put my costume and make-up I was no longer Giovanna, the insecure, introverted and absent girl. I was Leokadja Begbick, a woman; a woman so torn by her life that she became an indestructible shell of herself, the thickest skin of a snake, and the will to destroy everything that came her way. I was fuelled by poison, hate and selfishness. And let me tell you, it was the most gratifying feeling I've ever felt in a long time.

I've played older, cold women before, but never someone as deprived of goodness and morals as Begbick. Being an actress is great because of things like that. You can feel like a piece of shit when you're being just yourself, but when you allow a character to take control of your body, you're not yourself anymore, and for a moment you can even forget how insecure, shitty or fragile you feel. I like to think the characters I play to be my friends, and to some extent, they all could get along with me without any troubles. But would Begbick be my friend if she met me?

No, she wouldn't. She would step on me the moment she saw how insecure I am. She would destroy me and probably prostitute me without even thinking twice. And I took that in consideration when I molded her character. And, to be honest, I think she was the best character I've ever did in a long time.

Here's a picture of me playing one of my favorite scenes in the play; the hurricane. That was the moment I poured all my spite and hatred towards every human being sitting in the audience, and that was the moment I felt this woman's poison in my veins the most intensely. I don't know if I'll miss Begbick of if I'm just so relieved to get rid of her. It's a love/hate relationship I guess.

Anyway, there was a picture I kept as my phone wallpaper since February because I knew looking at it would give me strength and the inspiration I needed to get through everything. And it's a picture of Patti LuPone, most specifically, this picture.

Now, this could go terribly wrong if I allowed it so, and sometimes it did. There were times when I looked at this picture and I all I wanted to do was cry, because I saw myself beneath her feet, unable to get up and subjugated to an extent I couldn't even do anything about it. There were times when I knew I would never get this role right, and I would only ashame myself and everyone else in my class. There were times when I looked at it and I imagined her lifting me up and slapping me to come to my senses and get my shit together, and I beamed with joy, because I knew I was doing the right thing. I'm glad to look at it now that everything is over and smile knowing that I did a good job. And I can even imagine Patti's Begbick giving me a cold nod of acknowledgement.

Every moment I spent waiting for the play to begin I prayed for two people: my grandmother, who's always with me on stage in the form of an earring, a necklace, or in this case, a snake brooch she had; and Patti LuPone, whom I thanked thoroughly for being my inspiration and my strength during these hard months. Without her, I don't know if I would be able to even get this character out of the script and into real life. I owe Leokadja Begbick to her, and in a way, I guess she would be proud of me.

I keep saying that I don't want to act anymore, and well, I guess I'm constantly lying to myself, because when I step in the stage that's when my soul is in peace. Those floorboards are my solace, as hard as they can be. That sacred place is my home. How could I ever deny my home?

Thank you, Leokadja Begbick for filling me with the power to get through it all.

Thank you grandma, for giving me luck and always be with me when I'm on the stage... I just wish you could be here with me.

Thank you Patti LuPone, for being my inspiration and my guidance to mold this character the right way; without you, my will to be part of this play would never exist.

Thank you Brecht, for being the badass writer and poet who wrote this amazing piece of work. You had no idea, but Mahagonny is the perfect portrait of my country's situation right now. The city you created is the city I'm living in today.

And lastly, thank you Dionysus, for allowing me to step into your sacred temple, thank you for sheltering my soul.